The Night of the Afflicted Agent
by Deana
Summary: May 5, 1875: a day that Artemus Gordon will never forget, as life goes from bad, to worse, to MUCH worse.
1. Detour to Disaster

**The Night of the Afflicted Agent**  
A Wild West story

By Deana

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Artemus Gordon looked in the mirror as he shaved; glad that the quiet of the past few days would be shattered today by the return of his friend and partner, James West. Jim had been summoned to Reno, Nevada, to testify at a trial. Artie decided to drop him off and take the train to Carson City to pick up their wired payroll, and would be arriving back in Reno in three or four hours. Despite having enjoyed the quiet at first, it had quickly become boring, and he was eager for life to return to normal.

Suddenly, the train unexpectedly swayed as it encountered something on the track…a rock, or piece of wood. Whatever it was, Artie hadn't expected it and his hand slipped, slicing the razor into the skin under his jaw. He gasped and dropped the razor, startled to see thick drops of blood drip onto his hands. Quickly, he grabbed a towel and shoved it against the wound, staring in shock at himself in the mirror. He held it there for a minute before he started to pull it away, but shoved it back again when he saw how much blood was on the towel. A cold pit of fear filled his stomach as he came to the realization that the wound was serious, and for a minute, he didn't know what to do.

Rational thought came back to his brain as the shock wore off, and he tried to force himself to calm down as he again pulled the towel away and raised his chin to try to see the wound in the mirror. Blood instantly welled up again, making it impossible to see it clearly. The amount of blood on the towel was frightening, and it was obvious to Artie that he needed stitches.

Folding the towel to expose a clean area, he held it against the wound, wincing from the pain. He left his compartment and headed towards the front of the train, tapping their conductor, Orrin Cobb, on the shoulder, who turned around.

The conductor's eyes widened when he saw the bloody towel and he grabbed Artie's arm. "What happened?!" he exclaimed.

"I cut myself shaving and need stitches," Artie told him. "How far are we from the nearest town?"

"About an hour," Orrin said. Realization struck him. "Did it happen when we hit those rocks?"

Artie nodded.

Orrin was mortified. "I'm so sorry, Artemus!"

Artie shook his head. "It wasn't your fault." He smiled. "At least it's not on my face, so I don't have to worry about scaring away the ladies!"

Orrin attempted to smile back, knowing that Artie was trying to lighten the mood to make him feel better. "Good thing," he said. "I'll speed up so we can get there quicker."

"Thanks," Artie said, before heading back. He fetched a clean towel, headed into the main room, and sat on the couch, hoping that his detour to the doctor wouldn't cause much of a delay for Jim.

The hour passed slowly for Artie, who never managed to get the bleeding to stop. It would slow, but the slightest movement would renew the bleeding again. Finally, the train stopped, and when he went to the stable car, he found the conductor saddling his horse for him.

"How are you supposed to do it while holding that towel?" Orrin said to Artie. "The bleeding hasn't stopped?"

Artie almost shook his head, but stopped himself in time. "No. It's slowing down, though."

Orrin sighed as he lowered the platform.

"Thanks for the help," Artie said as he mounted his horse.

"No problem," Orrin answered, watching as Artie steered the horse down the platform and rode off.

Artie could see the town off in the distance, and it didn't take long to reach it. He asked the first person he spotted where the doctor's office was, and was directed to a shop only a few hundred feet away. Artie saw a group of children playing in front of the doctor's shop and in the road, so he dismounted where he was and tied his horse to a pole, before quickly walking over.

Some of the children saw the bloody towel that Artie was holding to his wound, and stared, so Artie just smiled at them and quickened his pace, striding over to the door and going inside. "Hello?" he said.

"Yes?" he heard, before a middle-aged man came walking in from a back room. "Can I help you? Ohh, what happened, young man?"

Artie sighed. "I cut myself shaving…it's pretty bad."

"Come with me, come with me," the doctor said, taking Artie's arm and leading him into the back room, where he had a table.

Artie sat on it, watching as the doctor gathered supplies.

The doctor came back and took Artie's wrist, pulling his hand away from the wound. "My my, you're right…that's certainly not good. What is your name, young man?"

"Artemus Gordon."

"Pleased to meet you, Artemus. You have quite a unique name," said the doctor. "I'm Dr. Morris." He took the towel and dropped it into a trashcan. "Is this the only towel you needed?" he asked, to figure out how much the wound had bled.

"That's the second one," Artie replied, tilting his head back as the doctor peered at the wound.

Dr. Morris *tsked*, picking up a fresh towel and jar of alcohol. "This will be easier for both of us if you lie down," he said.

Artie eyed the alcohol, dreading what the doctor was about to do. He shifted to lie flat, and forced himself to keep his eyes open, not wanting to appear cowardly.

Morris placed the towel under the wound before pouring the alcohol onto it.

Artie gasped and squeezed his eyes shut as the sting from the alcohol felt like it was burning away his skin.

Morris poured more alcohol over the wound and Artie clenched his hands into fists, resisting—with difficulty—the urge to jump off the table.

Morris wiped the alcohol and blood off Artie's skin around the wound, before peering at it again. "Would you like a sedative before I do the stitching?" he asked. "Human skin is very sensitive in that area, and I think that I'll probably have to put in ten stitches."

_Why didn't you ask me that before you poured the acid on me? _Artie thought. "That's all right, I'll be fine," he said.

_That's what they all say,_ thought the doctor. He walked over to his counter again, before coming back with another towel.

Artie was startled when the towel was dropped onto his face, and he inhaled a sickly-sweet odor that he instantly recognized as chloroform.

Dr. Morris removed the towel quickly. "Sorry, Artemus. I gave you just enough to keep you calm and quiet…I can't have you flinching when I have a needle so close to your throat."

Artie fully understood, as he lay there with his brain spinning, feeling drowsy. "S'okay," he slurred.

The doctor smiled as he threaded the needle.

By the time that Artie felt the first pinch, his eyes were closed as he drifted in a semi-conscious state. He felt everything that the doctor did, but it was dulled by the chloroform, and time passed quickly. Suddenly, he heard a noise, and realized that he hadn't felt anymore pinches for the last minute or two. Opening his eyes, he saw the doctor reach towards him with a bandage, which he taped under Artie's jaw and a little up the right side of his face, to secure it.

"How do you feel, Artemus?"

Artie blinked, trying to focus. "Sleepy."

"It'll wear off. Lie there as long as you need to."

But Artie started to sit up, so the doctor helped him. "Actually…I have to go. I'm meeting a friend today and have lost time from having to stop here."

"I wouldn't advise you walking around yet," said Morris. "The chloroform could make you dizzy, especially considering that you've lost blood."

Artie laughed. "I've been hurt a lot worse than this before. I'll be fine." He slid off the table and had to hold onto it for a minute as the doctor's words proved true, before they headed out of the room.

"Thank you very much, Dr. Morris," Artie said, as he took out his wallet and handed him a bill that was probably twice the amount that he needed to pay.

The doctor's eyes widened as he took it. "This is too much."

"You deserve it," Artie said, putting on his hat. "Good day."

"Good day to _you_!"

Artie smiled as he left. The children were no longer outside and Artie slowly walked back to his horse, feeling a little lightheaded. What happened next was something that Artie would never have expected.

As he passed a bank, the door flew open and four or five men ran out the door, plowing into Artie and nearly knocking him down. He reached out to grab something in order to keep his already-shaky balance, and found himself looking right into the face of a bank robber…a man who easily outweighed him by fifty pounds.

The next thing that Artie saw were stars, as the thief panicked and swung his fist at him, knocking him to the ground.

One of the other thieves, probably the leader, turned at the sound. "What are you doing?!"

"He saw my face!" Artie's assailant exclaimed.

"Forget him! Let's go!"

With that, they all took off.

Some of the townspeople heard the commotion, and, seeing someone lying on the ground, rushed over.

"What's going on here?!" someone shouted.

"Sheriff!" the bank owner exclaimed, rushing out the door. "The bank's been robbed!"

"Who's that?" the sheriff asked, pointing at Artie. "One of the thieves?"

"He must be," said one of the men. "He's a stranger."

"Well, who hit him?" asked the sheriff.

"I did!" said a man who sounded suspiciously drunk. "They came outta the bank just as I passed it, _*hic*_ an' I slugged 'im!"

"All right," said the sheriff. "Let's take him in."

Two of the men reached down, picked Artie up, and followed the sheriff to the jail…

TBC

LOL, yes, I really just did that to our sweet Artie. PLEASE review and tell me how much you already love this story. LOL! ;-)


	2. Mistaken Identity

When Artie woke up, he winced and reached a hand to his aching head, momentarily confused. He felt the bandage on the side of his face and remembered having stopped in town to see a doctor, but after that, his memory was hazy. The other side of his face hurt too, and felt bruised, but he couldn't remember why. He opened his eyes, sat up, and was shocked to find himself sitting in a jail cell. Standing up, he stumbled over to the bars and gripped them. "Hello?" he called. "Sheriff?"

A man came through the door. "Well, took ya long enough to wake up, sonny."

Artie blinked. "Why am I in this cell?"

The sheriff laughed. "Gonna play dumb, are ya? Don't bother, we know you was one o' the bank robbers."

Artie gaped. "Bank robber? Me?" He suddenly remembered passing the bank and a group of men running out…one of them had hit him, that was it! "No no no…I was passing your town on a private train, and stopped here to see a doctor…" He pointed to his bandage. "I needed stitches. After I left, I passed the bank and the thieves came out and ran into me…literally."

The sheriff crossed his arms. "Is that so?"

"Yes, that's so…look." Artie carefully peeled the bandage off and tilted his head up.

The sheriff came closer and peered between the bars. "Humm. Ya know, ya look familiar to me…I bet I've seen your picture in the newspaper."

"You probably have," said Artie. "I'm Artemus Gordon, an agent with the Secret Service, and was on my way to Reno to pick up another agent, my partner, James West."

The sheriff laughed. "That's a good one! It was probably on a wanted poster that I saw ya!"

Artie sighed and leaned his forehead against the bars. "I'm telling you the truth." He suddenly checked his pockets. "You have my identification…didn't you look at it?"

"There was no ID in your pocket…just yer wallet, with some of the stolen money in it."

"Stolen money?!"

"Well come on, no one carries around that much money in these here parts!"

"I have a very high-paying job," Artie said. "I told you, I'm an agent in the Secret Service!"

The sheriff laughed again.

"It's true! Go get the doctor and bring him here, for goodness sake! He'll tell you."

The sheriff stopped and his demeanor changed. "That's a good idea. I'll do that."

"Thank you."

With that, the sheriff left.

Artie sighed again and paced, waiting for the men to come back.

The sheriff returned a few minutes later. "The doctor isn't there…he had to make a house call."

"Oh, _great_," said Artie. "Another delay."

"Look, feller," said the sheriff. "Why don't ya just sleep off that headache that I'm sure you have, and when the doctor gets back, we'll see if we can clear this whole thing up."

Artie shrugged, having no choice but to wait, so he took the sheriff's advice and laid back down on the cot. He still felt a little groggy from the chloroform, so despite the situation, he managed to fall into a doze. He had no idea how much time had passed when he opened his eyes to find the sheriff standing over him.

Startled, Artie half sat up.

"Sorry, feller—I mean, Mr. Gordon. I didn't mean to scare ya."

"That's all right," Artie said, before suddenly noticing that the sheriff had used his name. He sat up all the way. "You spoke to the doctor?"

"No," said the sheriff, shaking his head. He held up Artie's Secret Service identification. "I went an' looked around, and found this outside the bank…ya must've dropped it when ya were knocked out."

Artie took it. "Thank you…that's a relief. This can be a very dangerous thing to lose."

The sheriff nodded and handed him his wallet and gun belt. "Yer free to go. I'm sorry for throwin' ya in jail."

Artie stood and took them. "I understand why you did, Sheriff. Goodbye."

"Bye."

Artie walked out of the cell and out the door, looking around for a minute to figure out which way to go. Seeing the doctor's office, he turned right, passing it and approaching the bank.

"Hey you!" he suddenly heard.

Unexpectedly, he was once again thrown to the ground as a heavy weight suddenly landed on top of him, while hands suddenly went around his neck.

"Sheriff!" he heard, while trying to pry the hands off his throat. "Sherrrrrrrrrrrif! He's gettin' away!"

People started running over—again—and the sheriff's voice was suddenly heard. "Let 'im go!"

But the man didn't. Artie tried to gasp in a breath, and slightly succeeded. The man wasn't _quite_ squeezing the life out of him, at least.

The sheriff reached them and threw himself to his knees, prying the man's hands off Artie's neck. "What are you doin'?" he shouted.

"This here bank robber escaped from jail!"

"No he didn't, I let 'im go because he's not a bank robber," the sheriff said as he reached towards Artemus and undid the top button on his shirt, to help him breathe better. "Are you all right, sonny?" he said, helping him sit up.

Artie had a hand around his neck, breathing heavily, wondering if his assailant had broken any of the stitches. "I'm fine," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Whaddya mean he's not a bank robber?" said the man…the same drunk from earlier.

"He's an agent in the Secret Service," said the sheriff. "And you lied when you said he came out of the bank!"

The man shook his head. "I didn't lie, no sirree!"

"Yes you did," said Artie, getting to his feet with the sheriff's help.

"You _always_ lie," said the sheriff. "I shouldn't have believed you in the first place!" He looked at Artie. "Should I arrest him for assaulting a lawman?"

The drunk looked at Artemus, scared.

Artie shook his head. "No…but it might be a good idea to take his whiskey away. Goodbye again, Sheriff." With that, he turned and walked back to his horse, standing not far away. He mounted and rode off, not looking back.

It didn't take long to reach the train again, and he watched as the conductor, having waited for him, lowered the platform. He rode his horse up it and dismounted.

"How'd you do?" Orrin asked, before his eyes widened when he saw Artie's face. "What on _earth_?!"

Artie wondered what he looked like, to get _that_ reaction. "I had a run-in with a man who thought I was a bank robber."

Orrin blinked. "What?"

Artie didn't feel like explaining…he wanted to just tell him to start the train back up and continue their journey to pick up Jim, but Orrin started removing the saddle from the horse, so Artie sat nearby and told him what had happened.

Orrin chuckled.

Artie was surprised. "You think it's funny?"

Orrin led Mesa back into her stall and turned around. "No, Artemus, certainly not the injuries, but the drunk trying to be a hero and sitting on you...!"

Artie thought for a second before smiling. "I guess some of it was funny." He rubbed his throat. "Minus the injuries."

The conductor took his arm and pulled him up from his seat, before ushering him back towards the door. "Put some ice on those bruises, I'll have us to Reno before you know it."

"Thanks," Artie said. He left the stable car and headed for the couch, skipping the ice. He sat down, but then got up again to look in the mirror. He was surprised at what he saw: the bandage covering his stitches looked bad enough, but the left side of his face had a large purple bruise on it, and small purple marks encircled his throat, the discoloration making his skin look pale. His hair was disheveled and he ran his hands through it as he headed towards the couch. The train started up just as he laid down, but he didn't fall asleep, though he tried to. His stitches hurt, his face hurt, his head hurt, his throat hurt, even his back hurt, from when he landed on the ground after the idiot drunk tackled him. The sight of him would shock Jim, he knew, and he sighed, just wanting life to return to normal…

TBC


	3. Woeful Tale

When the train stopped, Artie felt it and reopened his eyes, realizing that he'd somehow managed to fall asleep after all. He slowly sat up and painfully stood, feeling more bruises announce their existence as he headed towards the window. The town didn't have its own train station, which meant that Artie would have to ride into Reno. He wished that he could take the wagon, feeling too sore to ride, but Jim had his own horse, and Artie didn't want his friend to know how crummy he felt.

With a sigh, he headed back to the stable car, to find the conductor saddling Mesa again.

"How you feeling?" Orrin asked.

"I'll live," Artie said, finding that his voice was still hoarse.

"When Jim sees you, he's probably gonna want to tear that town apart."

Artie smiled. "Probably," he said, as he mounted his horse.

"Beware of the town drunk!" Orrin called.

Artie chuckled as he rode down the platform and headed for town. The ride was longer this time and he had to go slower because the terrain was rocky and was wreaking havoc on his sore body. After his horse climbed a steep hill, Artemus saw the town in the distance and found that he was only a couple of miles away. Relieved, he navigated Mesa down the rocky hill, but she suddenly danced backwards and neighed, rearing up and flinging Artie off her back.

Taken completely by surprise, Artie had no chance to hold on and slammed onto the rocks, landing heavily on his left side. He gasped as even more pain spread through his already abused body, and laid there dazed for a minute…before a deadly sound suddenly met his ears.

A rattle.

Acting on instinct, Artie's gun was in his hand before he even had a chance to think. Aiming towards the sound, he felt instant panic at the sight of a rattlesnake slithering over his right boot. He kicked his leg to dislodge it and fired, sending the deadly creature down the hill and out of sight.

Breathing heavily, realizing that he'd been seconds away from an agonizing and terrible death, Artie laid back down on the rocks, shaking. He fumbled to re-holster his gun, before realizing that there could be another snake slithering around.

Sitting up again, pain shot through his left arm and hip and he winced, pointing his gun as he looked around. Finding nothing, he re-holstered his gun and gripped his left arm, before looking down at it in surprise when he felt wetness.

Blood.

Shocked, he took off his jacket and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to find a jagged cut down the outside bend of his arm, courtesy of a sharp rock that he'd landed on. It was three inches long and bleeding badly. Incredulous, he just stared. "More stitches?" he said aloud.

He suddenly heard a soft neigh.

Artie looked up into the face of his horse, who must've felt contrite at having thrown him when the rattlesnake had appeared. He sighed and stroked her nose. "Not your fault," he said. Reaching up, he used Mesa to pull himself to his feet, remounting with extreme difficulty when he could barely lift his left leg. He was relieved to find nothing else bleeding, but he knew that he'd have more spectacular bruises to add to his recent collection.

The rest of the ride was torture on Artie's hip, and he was sweating by the time that he reached the town. He knew that he'd better see another doctor before he found Jim, for two reasons…one: the bleeding from his arm had barely slowed, and two: he didn't want Jim to see him a falling-apart mess.

Artie spotted the doctor's office without having to ask anyone, and headed over. When he dismounted from his horse, his leg nearly gave out beneath him. It was a very difficult walk to the door, and he went inside only to find no one there.

"Hello?" he called, looking around. The place was empty.

Sighing, Artie leaned on the counter. _Now what do I do?_ He hoped that the doctor would be back soon…he really didn't want Jim to see him this way. Looking for somewhere to sit, he saw in the next room a bed, and, figuring that he'd have to lie there anyway, he limped over and laid down. A few minutes later, he heard a voice that he didn't expect.

"Hello?"

_Jim!_ _What is he doing here?_ Artie wondered. He tried to sit up, to hide, but the pain in his hip prevented him from getting off the bed.

"Artie!" he heard, as his friend appeared in the doorway.

With a sigh, Artie laid back again. "Hey Jim," he said.

Jim rushed over to the bed and took in the unexpected sight of the bandage, bruises, and blood, not to mention his friend's hoarse voice. "What happened to you?!"

Artie sighed again. "What _hasn't_ happened?" He put a hand over his eyes. "Since you're here, I might as well tell you." He paused. "Wait, why did you come looking for a doctor? Are you injured too?" he said, trying to sit up again.

Jim pushed him back into the pillow, before looking around for a towel, seeing that Artie's arm was bleeding. "No, I'm fine…I saw Mesa tied to the post outside, and came looking for _you_."

"Oh." Artie hadn't thought of that. So much for trying to hide.

Jim found a towel and sat on the side of the bed, wrapping it around Artie's left arm and holding it tightly. "Now, tell me what happened."

Artie sighed. "Today has been absolutely insane. First, I cut myself shaving and needed stitches," he said, pointing to the bandage.

"Stitches, from _shaving_?"

"The train went over some rocks and took me by surprise," Artie explained.

Jim was inwardly horrified, seeing how close the cut was to his friend's throat.

"So I stopped at the next town to see a doctor," Artie continued. He suddenly closed his eyes. "Oh, I should've listened to him."

"What do you mean?"

"He gave me a bit of chloroform as a sedative while he did the stitching," Artie said. "When he was finished, he told me to stay put for a while but I didn't, I left immediately…"

"And?"

"And…as I walked past the bank, thieves came out and ran into me. One of them was a monster and slugged me," he said, pointing at the bruise on the other side of his face. "When I woke up, I was in jail…the town drunk told the sheriff that I was one of the bank robbers."

Jim just stared. "You're making this up, right?"

"No, Jim...I wish I was."

Jim unwrapped the towel to check on the bleeding, finding that it was slowing. Artie would still need stitches though, as bending and unbending his arm would reopen the wound. He wrapped the towel around it again. "Go on."

"So I told the sheriff who I was, but he didn't believe me. I'd dropped my identification outside the bank but didn't know it. I told him to go ask the doctor, but he was on a house call…like _this_ doctor, I assume," Artie said, waving his arm to indicate whoever owned the office that they were currently in.

"Anyway, he eventually found my ID and let me go. As I passed the bank again, however, I was once again assaulted…by the town drunk, who thought that I'd escaped from jail."

At that, Jim laughed.

Artie frowned. "Everyone thinks that's funny."

"Artie, now I _know_ you're making this up! Good joke, pal, you were really pulling my leg, there."

Artie tried to sit up again. "Jim, I am _not_ making this up! It all really happened…and there's more!" He winced and laid back down again.

Jim frowned. "I'm sorry, Artie…it just sounds so…ridiculous."

Artie sighed. "I _know_ how it sounds…how would you feel if you were the one who _lived_ it?" He put a hand over his eyes. "If I believed in curses, I'd think I was jinxed."

"There's no such thing as being jinxed, Artie," Jim said.

"I know, that's why I said _if_ I believed in it. It's almost just as hard to believe that it's all been a coincidence."

"I guess you're just having an off day," said Jim.

Artie moved his hand and raised his head off the pillow, looking at his friend. "An off day? Is _that_ what you'd call this? _I'd_ call it a nightmare! Huh. Maybe I'll wake up to find that this really _was_ all a dream." He reopened his eyes and tried to sit up again. "No…not a dream. It hurts too much."

Jim frowned, concerned.

"So anyway," Artie said. "Where was I?"

"The town drunk thought you escaped from jail."

"Oh, right. So he knocked me down and tried to strangle me. See?" He pointed to the bruises around his neck. "_Not_ making this up."

"Sorry."

"The sheriff came and told everyone who I was, etcetera, etcetera, and I left. I got back to the train and we shoved off. I then fell asleep, woke up when we arrived, left the train, and almost got bitten by a rattlesnake."

"What?"

"My horse saw it before I did and threw me, which was the cause of these _new_ injuries," Artie explained, gesturing to his arm and hip. "So as I lay there, cursing life, I heard a rattle, and found the thing crawling over my boot. I kicked it away and shot it, before _somehow_ getting up, making it to town, and collapsing here. And that, James my boy, concludes the woeful tale of Artemus Gordon on May 5th, 1875. How's life treating _you_?"

Before Jim could answer, they heard the door open as someone came in.

"_Finally_," Artie said.

Jim headed into the main room to let the doctor know that they were there, and brought him back.

"What on earth happened?" the doctor asked, when he saw his new patient.

Artie sighed. "I don't feel like explaining it again…would you mind, Jim?"

Jim told the doctor, as he examined his friend.

The doctor quietly listened to the story, not seeming surprised. He took a needle and thread and put fifteen stitches in Artie's arm, before wrapping a bandage around it and laying it on the bed. He looked at Jim as he finished explaining what had happened to Artie. "Is that all?" he asked.

Artie and Jim both nodded.

"I've heard worse," said the doctor.

Jim and Artie looked at each other, incredulous.

"As for your hip," the doctor continued. "Can you bend your knee and pull your leg up?"

Artie obeyed, wincing.

"Good. Stand up."

Jim reached down and helped his friend sit up, but the doctor held out a hand to stop him from doing anything further. "How can I tell how bad it is if he has assistance?"

Artie fought the urge to give the doctor a dirty look. Instead, he slowly stood, keeping his weight off his left leg.

"Can you put any weight on it at all?" the doctor asked.

Artie carefully did, trying not to let the pain show in his face.

"Walk," the doctor told him.

Artie carefully shifted his left leg forward and took a slow step, then another, and another. He was limping badly, but he was walking.

Jim inwardly sighed with relief.

Artie turned around and tried to get back to the bed, but each step was harder to take. He stopped and grabbed onto the footboard, just as Jim grabbed his arms.

"Well," said the doctor, as Jim helped Artie sit on the bed. "You wouldn't be walking if your hip was broken or dislocated, so I think the prognosis is good."

Artie was breathing heavily, from the pain.

"Is there anything else you need me to examine?" the doctor asked, as he grabbed a piece of cloth and tied it around Artie's neck to use as a sling.

"No," Artie said, carefully sliding his arm inside it. "Thanks." He stuck his other hand into his jacket to get his wallet, before frowning and sticking his hand into all of his pockets.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked.

Artie's face went pale. "My wallet…" He looked at the bed and floor, not seeing it.

Jim looked around, going into the next room and then outside, checking Artie's horse and the ground around it. He came back empty handed. "I don't see it anywhere, Artie."

"Oh _no_," Artie moaned, covering his eyes with one hand. "I had a lot of money in it."

Jim took out his own wallet, and like Artie had done earlier, took out a larger than necessary bill and handed it to the doctor. "You probably left it on the train, Artie. Don't worry, we'll find it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

Jim pulled his friend up and slowly helped him towards the door. "You're in no shape to ride back to the train, we'll stay in a hotel tonight."

"As much as I agree with you, Jim, our payroll was in my wallet! There's no way I'll be able to sleep wondering if it's safe and sound on the train, or lost forever," Artie said, as he painfully limped along. "I could've dropped it along the way…I bet it's lying on those rocks, from when I was thrown! We have to go back before someone finds it!"

Suddenly, the doctor tapped Jim on the arm, and handed him a bottle of pills. "He'll need these if he's going to ride. You've more than paid for them."

"Thanks," Artie said, relishing the thought of pain relief. He held out his hand and Jim shook two of the pills out, watching as Artie swallowed them dry.

Slowly, they left the doctor's office and headed towards the horses. Artie looked at Mesa in dismay, having no idea how he was going to get onto her with one arm in a sling and his left leg practically useless.

Jim was prepared, and grabbed the bridle of his own horse. "Kneel," he told it.

Black Jack instantly obeyed.

Artie looked at Jim's horse, warily. "Will he let me ride him?" he asked, both of them knowing that Black Jack refused any rider except for his owner. "I mean, I've _already_ been thrown once today…"

"He knows you, Artie, and he recognizes the fact that you're injured. He'll let you."

"How can he tell?"

"Simply by the fact that he had to kneel in order for you to mount," Jim replied, taking Artie's good arm and helping him into the saddle.

Once Artie was seated, the horse smoothly stood.

"See?" said Jim, still holding Artie's arm until he was sure that his friend wasn't unbalanced. He mounted Artie's horse and kicked her into a slow walk.

Artie winced from the pain in his hip and tried to squirm, but only succeeded in hurting himself more, rather than getting more comfortable. "Ooooh," he groaned, as the horse started walking. "Of all the days to lose my wallet…"

TBC


	4. When it Rains, it Pours

The journey back to the train was slow. The pills that Artie had taken naturally didn't work immediately, and whatever effect they _would_ have had was ruined by riding.

When they reached the rocky hill, Artie looked up it with dismay, before flicking the reins and navigating Jim's horse up the path that he'd taken. It hurt his hip just as badly as he knew it would, and he couldn't keep the wince off his face. It seemed to take an eternity, but soon, they reached the place where he'd encountered the snake.

"Do you see my wallet anywhere, Jim?" he asked.

Jim dismounted and walked around, looking. "No."

Artie lowered his head with a deep sigh and covered his eyes with his right hand. "I was sure we'd find it here!"

"It must be on the train, Artie…or somewhere else along the trail." Jim walked over to Black Jack and looked up at his friend. "Do you want to take a break?"

Artie lowered his hand. "My _mind_ doesn't want to, but my body is screaming for it."

"Kneel," Jim told his horse, who instantly obeyed.

Artie swung his good leg over Black Jack's neck so he was sitting sideways, and carefully slid off to sit on the ground. He stretched his left leg out, wincing.

Jim took a canteen off his horse and opened it, handing it to his friend. "I think I'll scout ahead and look around. If I find your wallet, then we can camp here tonight and you won't have to get up again."

"Wonderful idea," Artie said, gratefully. "Thank you."

Jim nodded and took Mesa's reins, leading her down the rocks.

"Don't you want _your_ horse?" Artie called.

"He'll protect you, Artie!"

Artie looked up at Jim's horse, who coincidentally wagged his head up and down as if agreeing with Jim. He reached up a hand and stroked Black Jack's nose, before drinking some water.

Putting the canteen down, Artie painfully shifted closer to a boulder so he could lean back against it, before taking off his hat and fanning himself with it. Suddenly, he realized that the horse was standing in the perfect position to block the sun. Wondering if that was yet another trick that Jim had taught it, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

A minute later, he heard an ominous sound.

A rattle.

Eyes popping open, Artie bolted upright, gun in hand, looking around wildly.

Black Jack neighed and suddenly started stamping his right front hoof.

Artie scrambled to get away from the snake that he could now see was only a few feet away. Not wanting Jim's prize horse to get bitten, he aimed his gun and fired, sending the monster flying. Looking around again, he wondered how many more were obviously living in the rocks.

Black Jack walked over to where Artie now was, and stood over him with his tail agitatingly flicking. Artie reached up and grabbed the horse's bridle for support in case he had to jump up to get away from another snake.

Galloping could suddenly be heard…obviously Jim had heard the gunshot. He came into view within seconds. "Artie?" he said, seeing his friend's defensive posture. "What happened?"

"Another rattlesnake," Artie told him.

Jim dismounted and strode over to him. "Kneel," he once again told his horse. He took Artie's good arm and helped him mount. "We shouldn't stay here any longer, it's obviously not safe," he said. "I didn't find your wallet, anyway."

"Figures," Artie replied.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finally, after what seemed like a year to Artie, they arrived back at the train…without finding his wallet.

Black Jack knelt without being told to.

"Can you teach Mesa to do this?" Artie asked, as he swung his good leg over the horse's neck and prepared to stand.

Jim nodded. "Of course." He took Artie's good arm and pulled it across his shoulders before pulling him to his feet.

After the ride, Artie could barely put any weight on his left leg. "Ow ow ow," he said, as he tried to take a step.

The conductor, having seen them coming, did a double-take when he saw that Artie now had an arm in a sling and couldn't walk without help. He watched with shock, wondering what _else_ had happened and shook his head, incredulous.

Jim helped Artie get up the stairs and into the train, where he brought him over to the couch and laid him down on it.

Artie, glad to be back, closed his eyes with a groan, before they suddenly popped open and he tried to sit up. "My wallet?" he asked.

Jim stood next to him, holding it up, with a smile.

Artie plopped his head back down and closed his eyes. "Oh, thank God!"

Jim handed it to him and opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly, the telegraph suddenly started clicking, signaling an incoming message from Colonel Richmond. Jim crossed over to it and tapped out an acknowledgement.

A few seconds later, the telegraph came to life. _Do you know anything about the bank robbery in the next town?_

Jim looked at Artie with an amused expression.

Artie rolled his eyes and flung his good arm over them, as Jim crossed over to it and tapped out a reply.

_Yes we do, Artie was—_

_There, _Artie thought, yawning.

—_one of them._

In shock, Artie tried to sit up. "What did you just _do_! Jim!"

Jim was laughing. "Relax, Artie, he won't believe it."

"But still!"

The telegraph tapped out the Colonel's reply, and they both stared at it.

_Please repeat last message._

Jim laughed again and started his own reply. _Artie was there, and was accused of being one of the thieves by the town drunk._

A longer stretch of time passed, as Colonel Richmond undoubtedly had trouble deciding on his next message.

_Is he in jail?_

Artie groaned. Richmond knew how easily they got into trouble, and apparently wasn't surprised.

Jim shot Artie a grin before tapping out: _Not anymore!_

"You're enjoying this," Artie said.

"Artie, if you really believe that..." Jim replied. "You'd be right!"

Artie shook his head, with a sigh.

The telegraph came to life again: _Any injuries that I need to know about before I give you a new mission?_

"Does he know us, or what?" Artie mumbled.

Jim typed out: _Yes. _

Artie—and no doubt Col. Richmond—waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. "Ha ha, very funny," said Artie.

Colonel Richmond replied immediately. _I want a full report of the incident in two days._

"A full report of the 'incident'…" said Artie. "When it rains, it pours. I'm never going to live this one down, am I?"

Before Jim could answer, the telegraph came to life again. _Tell Artemus to stay away from town drunks from now on._

Jim laughed. "No, Artie, you never will!"

THE END


End file.
